


And There's No Punchline After That

by alizarin_scribbles



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dubious Consent, Extreme Self-deprecation, Graphic Depression, Graphic Suicidal Ideation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mean and snarky flirting, Nongraphic drunk sex, Other, Pre-Canon, Russian Roulette, Self-Destructive Behavior, divorce mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 11:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16597298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizarin_scribbles/pseuds/alizarin_scribbles
Summary: So, two cops walk into a bar. Hank/Abbacchio. One-shot. COMPLETE.





	And There's No Punchline After That

**Author's Note:**

> [Disclaimer: All named characters-except Rita-in this story belong to Quantic Dream, Hirohiko Araki, Lucky Land, Shueisha, Shonen Jump, David Productions, Warner Bros. Japan, and all other additional entities responsible for the creation/ownership of Detroit Become Human and Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure. Rita is mine.]
> 
>  _[Russian translation](https://ficbook.net/readfic/7606723) by [Iprit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iprit/pseuds/Iprit) now available_.
> 
> Lalala lame title, I know XP. But well, well. It seems I love me a couple of hurty cops ;w;)b 
> 
> Timeline’s kinda weird! Takes place in a fusion universe during the year 2036, pre-canon to the events of both DBH and Vento Aureo. And like, Hank is 51 and Abbacchio’s like... what, 18 or 19, in this setting? Sheesh! So I am going to be very VERY adamant that this starts out very VERY ROUGH so take caution, PLEASE HEED THE CWs and read at your careful discretion. But don’t worry, it ends soft.
> 
> [I listened to mitski while writing this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AMptW7Ij7CI), peace out and enjoy!  
> -Reddie

_“Hank. You need to get out of here for a bit. Please.”_

Hank wasn’t supposed to be here.

He wasn’t supposed to be stumbling off a plane late at night, airsick and itching for liquor in the back of a driverless taxi.

No, he was supposed to be back in Detroit, drowning at Jimmy’s bar or working late to numb out thoughts over his now months-old divorce. Or hell, if he’d gotten what he’d gambled for a week earlier, he would’ve been happily lying in a body bag with his brains blown out, his entire department be damned if they were made to clean up the mess. No notes to leave, because it would be obvious why.

He got a little choked up at the thought of his ex-wife, having to identify his lifeless body, and getting dragged back into his bullshit all over again. Taking a shaky breath, the inside of this already-tiny car seemed to close in on him.

“Fuckin’ speed it up, goddammit,” he grunted at the empty space, smacking the glove compartment. The car hit a red light and paused, and for a second, that settled it. The universe was bent on making sure Hank would be nothing but miserable from his son’s death onward.

And what the fuck could he do about it, coward he was, no guts to pull the trigger?

He just closed his eyes and waited, a little half-hopeful for a disaster, the same kind that brought him here. But the car never crashed, just dumped him out on a street near his hotel.

God, Naples was nice. The moon resting on the distant ocean horizon, the warm glow of the trees wrapped in lights, the soft shine to the slim, winding streets covered in mist from the recent drizzle. Locals and tourists alike bustled past him, having the time of their lives.

Then, he passed by a young couple holding hands at a coffee shop table, murmuring fondly. One smacked the other’s shoulder playfully, hitting a little close to home. Hank’s heart tangled up with his guts. Avoiding eye contact, he tucked his hands into his coat and kept walking.

It was the kind of bittersweet that tasted partway like blood at the back of his throat. Between the heavy blink it took to push back sorrow and the overwhelming brightness of the lights as his eyes readjusted, he thought of Nicole, thought they could’ve had that. Hell, he wouldn’t have even booked Naples if not for her. _She_ was the one who kept going on and on about wanting to see the ruins of Pompeii. Hank really had no interest in observing what life looked like devastated when that was already his job.

Some anniversary _this_ would’ve been. Fucking thing to do, betting that a couple of nonrefundable plane tickets would fix their marriage. She was already gone before he could even offer them as an apology.

Christ, he didn’t blame her, and yet he still had the gall to feel angry at being left alone. But working day in, drinking day out, slamming doors and telling her to fuck off so she could watch in terror as her husband stuck his gun in his mouth… no _shit_ he fucked up. No wonder she took off without a word. What a goddamn piece of work he was, huh?

When he found the hotel, and then checked in, there was no relief to it, just hollowness. He didn’t want to go up to his room, wasn’t ready to sleep on one side of a big half-empty bed. The cold of the silver on his ring finger almost stung at the thought.

Instead, he found his way to the nearest bar. And it was all downhill from there.

* * *

_Hank lumbered into the office, arms crossed. He didn’t sit, just stared his police captain down. Jeffrey looked at him head-on, unintimidated but overwhelmingly exhausted._

_“So, what is it this time? Finally gonna fire me, Jeffrey?”_

_“You ripped. The arm. Off a PC200.” he answered back, firm, and reasonably pissed. “It’d be a smart move to kick your ass to the curb.” A bitter laugh wormed its way out of Hank’s throat._

_“Yeah?” Hank leaned in, hands spread on his desk. “What’s stoppin’ you?”_

_Jeffrey softened, looking almost sad, “Hank. We’re friends.” He rose from his seat, setting his hands on Hank’s shoulders. He shook his head gently, “And I know it’s been rough for you since Nicole left—”_

_Hank jerked away, “You don’t know shit.”_

_“Hey, shut up and listen to me,” Jeffrey snapped back. “Look, I know it’s been rough for you lately. But you’re not off the hook. So I’m transferring you to homicide—”_

_“Well, whoop-de-fucking-doo—”_

_“—after you take a vacation. Starting tomorrow.”_

_“What?” Hank furrowed his brows, “That’s your punishment?”_

_“That’s my solution,” Jeffrey folded his hands together. “It’d do everyone around here some good if you go blow off some steam someplace else. Just take a week off, then come back to work once you’ve cleared your head.”_

_“You’re fucking kiddin’ me. Jeff—”_

_Jeffrey slammed his hands on the desk. But his voice came out quiet, nearly breaking a bit. Hank couldn’t take the look he fixed at him._

_“Hank. You need to get out of here for a bit. Please.”_

That moment whirled on replay, again and again through his head. All the while, his eyes blearily followed the bartender, holding a half-hearted hand up each instance she dubiously… acknowledged or ignored him.

A jingling—the bar door slammed open—raked Hank back into the present. Conditioned to be cautious, he couldn’t help but sneak a glance at whoever it might’ve been.

It was just some college-looking kid: cropped white hair, long black jacket, a bit of eyeliner to cover up how he looked way more exhausted than he should've for his age.

Hank wasn’t inclined to pay him any further mind until the guy hunkered down in the seat right next to him, the last one available at the bar. It was an edge seat, the one closest to the exit. His sharp, golden eyes shifted, like he was already looking for an escape, already expecting shit to fly south.

When he raised his polished hand and parted his inky lips, the bartender turned to him, smiling lightly. They held a mild, friendly exchange in Italian, and the only word Hank understood was “Prosecco”. The guy got his white wine instantly.

Thinking he had his chance, Hank raised his chin, tripping over a basic-guidebook phrase.

“Uh, _‘scuse me_?”  He mumbled, just as the bartender’s back started to turn on him again.

Golden eyes flickered straight to Hank’s raised hand, and the guy spoke up.

“ _Rita, one more here._ ”

The bartender’s eyes darted from the guy to Hank, blinking as if surprised, like she never noticed Hank was here in the first place.

“What do you want?” She asked, curt and cordial. She was speaking English now, and he couldn’t help the little sigh of relief that snuck out.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” Hank gestured over to him, before slapping down enough euros, “And it’s all on me.”

Her eyes widened, dancing between the two of them, before crinkling in snide amusement. The guy’s lips pursed, slight tension in his jaw. Or maybe it was just resting bitch face. Who knew? Hank was the least qualified to judge, and if being nice looked sleazy, who fucking cared? Anyway, he would’ve blown the anniversary budget on gambling back home if not this.

Rita crowed almost teasingly, “Coming right up, Leone.”

It didn’t take long for her to pour another glass for Hank. As soon as the bartender was out of earshot, Leone slid an arm around Hank's shoulders, to pull him down to his level. Hank froze, forced to look at him from the corner of his eye. Leone’s fingers dug into his sleeve, on the edge of forceful. Hank gripped his cup.

“There a problem?” Hank smiled tightly and politely, not in the mood for a fight tonight.

“If you try to drug me,” Leone threatened lowly, “just know you’re dealing with a cop here.” Emphatically, he tapped his own chest, so Hank could hear the clink of a metal badge, “Yeah?”

Hank snorted, eyes flickering to the bartender, who quickly pretended she wasn’t glancing over her shoulder at them. When he turned to face Leone, his forced smile scrunched into something uglier, something cocky, something a little pissed even. He shoved Leone’s arm off him.

“Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself. And anyway,” He whipped out his own police badge, the fake he kept pinned to the inside of his coat, “Small world. So nothing funny yourself.”

Leone scoffed, raking judgmental eyes over Hank’s body.

“You’re priceless.”

“Appreciate the compliment, sweetheart,” Hank sassed back. And god, Hank already knew he was pathetic on a number of levels, but he wasn't in the mood to let anyone else remind him yet.

Leone seemed to sense that, looking almost rueful as he lifted his glass to his lips. Hank made a mild shooing motion with his hand, before drinking his Prosecco too. Sipping at their wine, they didn’t talk to each other for a little bit. They didn’t break eye contact either.

Rita paid more mind to Hank, now that he’d learned the way to get her attention was to wave with a euro bill in his hand. Every time either his or Leone’s cup was near empty, Hank paid the tab. It wasn't really some sort of pissing contest to see who could drink more, but Leone kept up pretty well with Hank. He kept draining it… and draining it…

And Hank couldn’t help but notice when Leone’s eyes started getting a little harder, a little more withdrawn. His distant gaze dove into the depths of his glass as he swirled it around, before drinking a little more. And that was more than the look of a tired officer taking a break for the night. No, this felt heavier, felt more… definitive.

“Damn,” Hank finally murmured, after a couple more glasses, “you’re going at it hard tonight, huh?”

Finishing the last of this cup, Leone turned in his seat to face him, relenting mildly, though still cautious.

“I could say the same about you, old man.” He rested his elbows on his knees, “You're obviously not local. What brings you here?” Hank set down his wine glass, warding away the memory of Jeffrey’s soft, pitying stare.

“Mandatory vacation.”

Leone raised an eyebrow, “That’s really all?”

And Hank would normally feel inclined to say, _None of your fuckin’ business_. But something about this guy was getting him in a mood tonight.

He took in the sight of Leone again, the aged, distrusting eyes, the lanky crossed arms, the exhausted hunch of his shoulders. He looked guarded. He looked way too young to be having some kind of mid-life crisis like Hank was right now. But it hit Hank that this could happen, in this line of work. Having to handle crime and cruelty daily could fuck a man up, make him cagey and skew him bitter towards everyone who hovered. So hell… maybe Leone really could relate to the level of low he was feeling tonight.

In his own ears, it sounded like a sketchy, greasy thing to think, but suddenly, he had a soft spot. Loosened up by the wine, Hank realized he wanted to trust him, maybe a bit more than he should've. That couldn’t possibly lead anywhere good, but he could work with a mess if he made one.

So he fucked up, smacking his wedding band against the table.

“Had to get out of that fuckin’ empty house,” he answered.

Leone’s eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly.

“You came in looking for company,” He mused, seeming a little fascinated, or like he’d definitely had too much. Hank promised himself to stop paying for his refills after this one.

The bartender strolled by briefly to fill up Leone’s glass again, patting the table for payment. Before Hank could move to place the bill in his hand down, Leone grabbed it from him and passed it to her. When Hank’s eyes met his, Leone just gave him a smirk.

Hank huffed, “Or maybe _you’re_ looking for it, since you seem to keep pressing it.”

“You walk into a bar, rake your eyes up and down some younger man, and offer to pay for his drink as soon as he sits down.” Leone scoffed, “Excuse me for trying to dissect that.” He quickly drank his wine down to half-empty again.

Hank bit back, “What, a guy can’t say ‘thanks for the favor earlier’ anymore?”

“And the part where you stared at me?”

While Leone downed the rest of his glass, Hank paused. He considered being frank that he wasn’t ogling Leone, but… what human being wants to hear they looked too broken up for their age? Oh no, Hank wasn’t about to sound like one of those pretentious old guys trying to save some sad young thing.

It was such a ridiculous way to frame it that Hank couldn’t help but blow out a single chuckle.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, kid, but you’re off the clock. Turn that brain of yours off, will ya?”

Leone let out an achy laugh and raised his empty glass.

“Working on it.”

Honest to god, the guy looked so pathetic that Hank broke his promise and bought him two more refills.

In turn, Leone stubbornly insisted on paying for Hank’s last drink, before wobbling out of his seat. Hank lent his shoulder as support, letting Leone hold onto him while he got his balance back. Pitying, Hank wanted to offer to walk him back, but knowing he was on thin ice, he kept his mouth shut.

Then Leone pulled Hank out of his seat, leaning in again to whisper.

“I really wasn’t looking for company when I came in either, but I don’t think I’d mind it tonight after all.”

Hank swallowed quietly, feeling the burn of his flushed skin as Leone slid a palm up to the base of his neck.

He hated it. This little shit tried to call him ugly earlier, but now, the suggestion that they could fuck? Distantly, an unnamed guilt gnawed at him, for burning over the thought, for bothering to want it enough. His chest ached at the center. And Hank had made a fair number of fuck-ups at this point in his life: driving in the snow, taking the wrong freeway out with that truck, driving his wife away with his bullshit in the wake of their son’s funeral…

A rebound hookup was definitely another bullet point to add to that list, but he figured one more mistake couldn’t make him hurt more than he already did.

“Oh yeah?” Hank hooked an arm around him, leaning into it. “Same here, if you’re thinking what I’m thinking.” Leone wrapped an arm around Hank’s waist, fingers digging lightly into the fabric.

“Lead the way, big guy…”

* * *

They burned through a freezing walk, tugging at each other impatiently as they slipped down the chilly evening streets, through the tepid hotel hallways, up the stairs into Hank’s warm room.

Too impatient, they didn’t even bother turning on the lights. Leone crushed his mouth against Hank’s, pinning him to his own room door, shoving a leg between the older man’s thighs. Hank met him back with as much force, grinding against Leone, pushing the sleeves of that long black coat down off his shoulders. When he bit Leone’s lower lip, licking along the edge of it, he hummed at the taste of the lipstick when their tongues slid together. Hank undid the top buttons of Leone’s shirt.

With a noisy exhale, Leone pulled back a second, so he could grab Hank by the collar and yank him forward off the door, before bringing their mouths crashing together again. Hank let him, returning the wet, sloppy kisses with hungry desperation. Leone’s dizzy, backwards steps led them towards the bed, until their legs were bumping up against it.

Hank immediately shoved Leone onto the mattress, and he fell backward with a grunt, legs parting to let Hank settle between them. Leone caught his breath, looking up hazily as Hank just stood there, looming overhead. The moonlight through the windows settled like fine mist on Hank’s grey hair, softened the shadow of his large frame into something mysterious and foreboding, overwhelming. Leone swallowed, pulse pounding hard in his chest with anticipation.

“Fuck,” Hank panted, taking in the sight of the lanky young man sprawled across the bed, lipstick smudged and shirt hanging open. When he finally did get atop Leone, the breath shivered out of the younger man’s frame. “You doing alright? Need a minute?”

Up close, Hank’s eyes, even in the dim light were so irresistibly blue, so… sweet. Hell, this close, he even noticed this fucker had a little tooth gap. Soft was a startlingly nice look on him. Leone brought a hand up to curl an eager fist into Hank’s hair, drawing another curse out of him.

“Do _you_ need a minute?” Leone teased, “I sure hope you can keep up with me.”

“God, you’re feisty.” Hank murmured, voice dark and warm. He dipped his chin down to lick at Leone’s throat, causing the fist in his hair to tighten. “Like that a lot.”

“You’d better,” Leone said, though there was a smile in his voice. Pointedly, he sat up and tried to yank off Hank’s coat, sleeves catching as they bunched at his elbows. Hank just laughed, a friendly noise, as he nudged Leone back down.

“Don’t get _too_ ahead of yourself, Leone.”

At the sound of his name, it occurred to Leone with a shiver that he didn't even know Hank's. And when Hank peeled both his jacket and shirt off completely, heat roiled in his guts. God, he was fine with _everything_ about this now, if he wasn't already before. He was impatient long before they got here.

So the second Hank pinned Leone with his whole body into the mattress, was pure, reckless satisfaction. Leone gasped his shaky pleasure against Hank’s open mouth, smoothing a hand up Hank’s neck to get to a handful of his hair while they made out. Their legs tangled up, hips grinding against each other’s insistently.

Hank eventually let Leone roll on top of him, made unabashed noises of encouragement every time Leone tugged at his hair. In response, Hank rested his hands over Leone’s shoulder blades, liking the way they rolled under his palms with each forward grind of their hips together. Eventually, they unzipped each other, pants easing down hips, hands reaching down boxers to jerk each other off. Eventually, they lost themselves to it, panting each other’s breath for a good, long while, until they were both satisfied. It took forever.

Afterward, they both just rolled over onto their backs side by side, staring at the ceiling, bodies covered in sweat and mouths tasting a bit disgusting in the wake of it. Hank closed his eyes a second and tried not to think too hard about what he just did.

Still, he couldn’t help the urge to look over at Leone, to check if he was doing alright. And as their eyes met, Leone parted those pretty, smudged-up lips.

“I don’t want this to go anywhere.”

Hank hated the relief that instantly swelled in his gut at those words. He shook his head softly, chest rising and falling with a breathless, exhausted exhale.

“Then we’re on the same page,” He replied, looking back at the ceiling, pretending he could count stars in the indents of the paint. “No biggie. You alright?”

“I’m alright,” he sighed, but he sounded a little distant. Hank suppressed the urge to ask again.

They went quiet. And after a little bit, when the bed shifted, Hank expected Leone to shower, to leave, to forget that this gross, old sleazebag got him drunk and took him to bed. He couldn’t be more of a fuck-up than he’d already been. He’d resigned to being the asshole of this story too. Maybe finally someone would agree that the rest of the world would be better off with one less garbage human to pollute it.

Leone did get up to shower… but then he came back to bed, took off his towel, and laid his naked body down on his side next to Hank, staring at him like he was mulling over some sort of mystery. Hank turned his head, a little annoyed somehow.

“What?”

“You’re really going to lie there and let your cum dry up in your boxers?”

“Christ, kid, that’s graphic,” Hank wrinkled his nose, sitting up to grab the towel at the foot of the bed. He cleaned himself up and blew out another, weary sigh. He didn’t lie back down, just throwing the towel onto the nearest chair to placate him. Leone did look vaguely smug when Hank turned back to him. “Anything else you want while we’re at it?”

Hank wasn’t prepared for the way Leone’s face softened back to something thoughtful. He looked so… vulnerable. He looked innocent, even. It felt like an _insulting_ way to view him, especially after deciding the guy was old enough to fuck, and Hank was guiltily, momentarily grateful that Leone couldn’t read minds.

After the pause, Leone sat up, holding Hank’s gaze for a while.

“In your department…” He stumbled for words, splaying a hand over the edge of the bed, “Are there more people… like you?”

Hank snorted, “Like how? Tall, old, bitchy, alcoholic?”

“No,” Leone said firmly, “I mean. Are there more… good people like you?”

Hank suppressed a choked, bitter laugh.

“You think I’m a good person?” He looked at his lap, head shaking lightly as he hid behind his hair.

“Yeah.”

The solemn sincerity of that one syllable hit Hank like a knife in the gut. Oh, _fuck all_ if he ended up crying in front of some sentimental drunk on this no-longer-anniversary. He took a moment to blink back the tears.

“An old ugly-lookin’ bastard walks into a bar, says he doesn’t want company after buying you a few dozen drinks, and then brings you up to his room,” Hank recounted, partially angry, mostly incredulous, “and _that’s_ your idea of a good person?”

“I tried to intimidate you for being nice, and then invited myself up. And you’re drunk too,” Leone retorted, “If you’re no fucking good, I’m no better. Now answer me.”

Hank felt his head spin.

“What’d you ask again?”

“Are your workmates good people?”

And Hank genuinely reflected on the people he’d worked with, Gavin excluded, and found himself unconsciously nodding. Jeffrey's eyes, the words _We're friends_ returned to him again. The answer slipped out easily.

“Yeah. My department’s full of good people, yeah.”

It choked him up. At that moment, Hank resolved that, when he got back, he’d be sure to at least do his best to stay out of their way from now on. They’d all skirted around his temper long enough. And nobody deserved the bullshit threat of losing someone they cared about.

“They care about justice?”

“They care about _people_ ,” Hank answered firmly, looking Leone in the eye. "Good cops should."

At that, Leone’s expression visibly brightened, and Hank almost convinced himself that maybe he wouldn’t completely regret this evening in the days to follow.

There were so many things Hank didn’t know about Leone, about the way he ruined his career before it already began, about how he was planning to quit in the coming months after accepting punishment, about the blood that would always, always linger on his hands. It stung Leone to remember how far he’d sunk in so little time, but what Hank had to tell him here was soothing. Even if Leone’s local department was corrupt to the brim, he could have some peace of mind knowing it wasn’t like that everywhere.

“I still don’t want this to go anywhere,” Leone reaffirmed, “but do you mind if I sleep here the night?”

“I don’t mind,” Hank agreed easily. “And. Just to let you know… you can just take off in the morning if you want, no warning. No need to say goodbye if you don’t want to, I get that.”

“That’s considerate of you.”

“Whatever you say, kid,” Hank rolled his eyes, lying back down. He wasn’t going to argue this tonight. He’d had enough of putting people through bullshit for now.

“ _Good night_ ,” Leone said in Italian. Hank echoed it back as best as he could.

With that, he rolled over, complained briefly about missing his dog, before settling under the sheets comfortably. And in the dim minutes before Hank blacked out, Leone settled back down too, quietly admiring the way Hank’s hair spread over his pillow. He replayed over and over how soft it felt in his hands, before he drifted off to sleep.

There was no cuddling, no tender good-night kiss. Though… it was comforting to feel some weight shifting every now and then on the other side of the bed.

Right now, that was exactly what they both needed.


End file.
